


Blood and Roses

by Yahtzee



Series: UB Season Five: New York, New York [8]
Category: Ugly Betty
Genre: First Kiss, Hostage Situation, Multi, iPhones can save your life, media frenzy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-02
Updated: 2011-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yahtzee/pseuds/Yahtzee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A would-be killer is stalking Betty and Daniel through the hallways of Meade Publications after hours -- but they're not the only ones in danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Roses

Betty realized later – having a gun thrust in your face did weird things to your brain.

One second before, she’d been happy and excited, her mind zipping in a hundred directions at once – from wondering what kissing Daniel would be like to feeling nostalgic for the Meade Publications building to wondering whether she could repair the blue dress she was wearing if it were, in fact, ripped off as an act of passion. But seeing Victoria Hartley – and the gun she was holding – made her entire world shrink.

She could think of nothing but the danger, could see nothing but the muzzle. She was nothing but fast pulse and shallow breath.

“Get in,” Victoria said evenly. She might have been inviting Betty into her town car for a jaunt to the opera. Her hair was shaped in a perfect, hair-sprayed helmet. “Say nothing.”

Betty wanted to scream, but that seemed like a good way to get shot. It also seemed like a good way to get the security guards shot – and for all that they wore uniforms, she knew they didn’t have weapons to defend themselves. Numbly, she backed into the elevator, and Victoria followed.

As the doors slid shut, enclosing them, Victoria said, “You’re meeting Daniel Meade, aren’t you? Take me there.” Her thin lips pressed into a white line that Betty recognized as the woman’s best attempt at a smile.

 _Oh, my God. She’s the one trying to murder him!_ Betty couldn’t imagine why Victoria wanted to hurt Daniel, but she also knew there was no way she was allowing that woman to get anywhere near him. Hand trembling, she pressed a button on the elevator panel, almost at random – the photo studio, maybe – but definitely not the MODE offices.

Daniel would be waiting for her up there, so eager, so hopeful, totally aware that anything was wrong. Would he search for her? Would he think she’d stood him up?

All she knew was that Daniel had to stay far away from all of this … and that she would have to think fast to save herself.

**

Candles, candles – why didn’t this office have any candles?

Daniel had already scoured the storeroom where they’d kept the unused Fashion Week swag bags (which had included designer scented candles), the receptionist’s desk and the supply room. This had turned up plenty of pens, a few stray bottles of the latest Chloe perfume, and a jumbo bag of Almond Joys that Amanda had apparently left behind. But no candles.

 _Should’ve known the staff would leave no swag untouched,_ he thought

Maybe MODE was romantic enough on its own, he thought. He’d certainly found it adequate for trysts with any number of girls before – but no. Betty was different. Special. He had to find some way to set the mood.

Actually, come to think of it, Betty was also late.

He pulled out his iPhone: no emails, no texts. Daniel quickly tapped out, _Can’t wait to see you. ETA?_

No response came.

Well, that was hardly surprising. Probably Betty was on the subway, and she wouldn’t be able to get reception there. The few months of his life that Daniel had been compelled to take public transit had taught him that trains could be amazingly slow, and that they could somehow sense when the people aboard them wanted to get to their destination very quickly, which only made them slow down further. If Betty was half as eager to see him as he was to see her, that train was probably crawling.

With a sigh, Daniel turned back to the scene he was endeavoring to create in his office. He’d decided against ordering Chinese; he’d take Betty out for a late, romantic dinner in an hour or two. But he’d only turned on the lamps to create what mood lighting he could and had cleared off his desk and the chaise longue, both to make the place look better and to clear space so they had the potential to make out on any and all surfaces. He had managed to find a bottle of wine left over from Betty’s farewell party, which was uncorked and “breathing,” hopefully to taste better in the plastic cups he’d dug up.

Daniel set his iPhone in the dock and got some soft music started. Perfect, he told himself.

But what was ever perfect enough for Betty?

This night – this was going to be one of the big events of his life. One of the unforgettable moments, like losing his virginity, or Alex’s supposed “death,” or Sofia dumping him on live TV, or his wedding to Molly, Dad’s death, or the moment he’d learned he wasn’t really DJ’s father. Most of those big events, he realized, had been tragic; even his wedding had been death-shadowed and bittersweet, and losing your virginity to a girl you later found out had only been acting on a dare from your big brother, a.k.a. the guy she actually liked – well, if that wasn’t tragic, he didn’t know what was.

Which meant this was likely to be the most joyful moment he’d ever known.

Come on. There _had_ to be some candles around for this.

He glanced again at his phone, seeking messages. No reply yet. Betty had to be several minutes away yet. That gave him time. Daniel grabbed the phone (time to play music later, plus she might yet text him) and hurried to the elevators, determined to find a candle if he had to search every single room in the Meade Publications building.

**

It wasn’t like Amanda hadn’t already known she was a super-mega-genius, but tonight just made it totally undeniable.

Tyler had been all torn up after his father was such a horse’s butt to him. This meant that he needed something to do to keep his mind off anything and everything connected with Cal Hartley. And he’d mentioned, just in passing, that a photographer had contacted him about doing some freelance work, artistic shots, if he ever had time. Anybody might have figured out that this would be a good night to call the photog and see if he had a couple of hours to do it.

But only a super-mega-genius would have asked the extra questions to find out that the photographer was none other than Cliff St. Paul, and then gone on to invite Marc along. Because photo shoots needed stylists! She should know: Despite Penelope Kerr’s increasing success, Amanda’s main source of income remained the cash she made at MODE. And of course, now that she was a sort of senior stylist, she would need her own assistant, and Marc could do that. Plus flirt with Cliff.

This was the kind of thing that put the super in front of the mega-genius.

It looked like Cliff would agree, once he learned the whole story, way later, maybe at his and Marc’s commitment ceremony reception. He was trying to play it cool, but his eyes kept darting over to Marc like he was something delicious, something scrumptious … hadn’t she left some Almond Joys around here?

“I didn’t know you did photo styling,” Cliff said, glancing sideways at Marc as he set up his tripod. “Isn’t that, I don’t know, beneath you?”

“Not at all. Happy to help out,” Marc said, way too cheerfully. He needed to turn it down, like, five or six notches; Amanda would whisper that at her next opportunity. “Besides, we’re in the Meade photo studios. You should have a full-time staffer here. Just in case anybody asks questions.”

“Nobody’s ever objected to my doing freelance shoots here before. I’ve got a security pass.” Cliff lifted the pass around his neck, which hung on a zebra-printed strap. More quietly, he said, “But, you know – thanks for pitching in.”

Oh, yeah, all she’d have to do was make sure she and her honey got out of here as soon as the shoot was done. Then Marc and Cliff could “clean up” ‘til dawn. With a grin, Amanda turned her attention to Tyler, who still looked drawn and tense. “Okay, you. Ready to get naked?”

Everyone stared at her. Cliff finally said, “This isn’t a nude shoot.”

She cocked her head. “But I thought you said these photos were artistic.”

Marc put his arm around her shoulders. “Sweetie, artistic doesn’t always mean naked, no matter what that weird guy in the Hawaiian shirt told you four years ago.”

 _Ohhhh._

Just when she might have started feeling stupid, Tyler touched her hand for just a moment, which she knew was a reminder that he thought she was great – and how did she know that? It was like they had love telepathy or something. He didn’t even have to say anything to her; instead he spoke to Cliff. “Okay, where do you want me?”

Any inch of the photo studio could have been a potential backdrop. The shimmering silver veils hanging from jeweled rods belonged to a MODE shoot; there was no telling which magazine had left behind all the larger-than-life plaster angels, which looked atmospheric in shadow. But Cliff pointed at the far corner of the studio, where several packing crates held equipment for an upcoming HUDSON shoot. “We’ll be over here. Extreme close-ups, the rough wood in the background – black and white – it’s going to be interesting, I think. Something different for my portfolio.”

“Sounds fabulous,” Marc said, still in Gush Mode.

Well, he’d calm down as soon as this started feeling less like an awkward double date and more like a real photo shoot. And anybody knew a photo shoot didn’t feel real without music. Amanda hit play. As dance music filled the room, she grinned at all of them and said, “Hey, nobody’s around for us to bother, right? Let’s kick it.” She pushed the volume up, up, up, as loud as it would go, because the drumbeats would make Marc’s fear go away, and remind Cliff of all the good parties they used to go to together, and help Tyler relax into the moment.

As for her, she was just gonna love it, because there were few things Amanda enjoyed more than loud music when there was nobody around to yell at her to turn it down.

**

“Who is that?” Betty blurted as dance music began to echo down the hall from the elevators.

“Not Daniel, then?” Victoria Hartley gave her an appraising look as the elevator doors slid shut behind them. “Somebody else is nearby. That’s inconvenient. But at least someone will find the bodies right away.”

“Mrs. Hartley –“ It was difficult to find the words. Betty had never had a good relationship with the woman, who was both cold and snobbish. But she’d never imagined that Victoria was capable of murder. And why would she want to kill Daniel? Had they even met? A possible explanation occurred to her; it made no sense, but then, wanting to hurt Daniel could never make sense to Betty. “You know Matt and I split, like, months ago, right? So I’m definitely not cheating on him with Daniel.”

Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to replace Matt. That’s not going to happen.”

Okay, that was kind of insanely overprotective. Then again, judging from the look in Victoria’s eyes and the gun ( _ohmygod ohmygod it’s a gun it’s a real gun and it’s pointed at me_ ), insanity pretty much had to come into the explanation somewhere.

Though the building’s air conditioning got kind of maniacal in the summers, encouraging all the MODE staffers to start wearing their winter fashions five months early, Betty’s skin was already slick with sweat. Her heart had been racing for so long that she felt weak from it. Yet her mind remained sharp – if anything, even sharper. Danger focused the mind, Betty realized. It was survival instinct. She wanted to get through this and keep Daniel far away from harm, she had to be able to think fast.

For a moment Betty found herself thinking of her father, at home in Queens, recuperating from the heart attack that had nearly killed him. If she got hurt, or worse, what would that shock do to him?

No, she wasn’t just fighting for her own life here. A lot depended on her getting out of this in one piece.

But how?

She tried a different tack: “Your husband would want to know about this, don’t you think?”

“Cal tells me to calm down,” Victoria said. “He wants me to see a doctor. The doctor thinks I should take pills. As if pills can solve this kind of problem.”

Knowing Cal Hartley also thought his wife was nuts was validating, but not at all comforting. “But he loves you. You guys are back together. That means you’re partners, right? So he’d want to hear how you are, and what you’re thinking.”

Victoria’s severe expression softened briefly, and a slender hope illuminated Betty’s heart like a shaft of light. “He worries. I know he worries.”

“And you don’t want him to worry, right? So why not call him? Just explain what’s going on.” Cal Hartley might be a lousy human being, Betty thought, but there was no way he’d let his wife murder somebody in cold blood. Then she remembered his steely, piercing eyes and wasn’t so sure. But it was worth trying.

That temporary hope dwindled as Victoria shook her head. “I’m taking care of this for him. For us. He’ll understand.” She cocked her head. “You aren’t meeting Daniel Meade here, are you? Someone else? I suppose you don’t care who you replace my son with. Anyone and everyone, perhaps.”

Betty said nothing. The truth would endanger Daniel; any lie would be painfully transparent, at this point. Though she and Victoria stood as far apart as ever, and Victoria’s hands on the gun had remained remarkably steady, she nonetheless understood that something in the room had changed … and not for the better.

A new wave of fear washed over her, even colder and more overpowering than before. _Oh, my God,_ Betty realized. _This is really going to happen._

“I need to look for Daniel now. But I can’t do that while you’re with me.” Victoria pointed to the floor. “Kneel, would you?”

Betty didn’t move. “Mrs. Hartley – think this over – ”

“I have. It doesn’t really matter if they find your bodies together or apart.”

Obviously Betty would have to try something else. She had no idea what. Going on the offensive? Trying a Tae Kwon Do move? By now she doubted anything she could do would save her life.

But there was no way she was going to kneel at Victoria Hartley’s feet.

**

Daniel had taken the stairs down each flight, the better to make sure his body looked good for Betty, who was really kind of crazy late by now – or maybe waiting for him in the office upstairs? No, she’d have texted him if she were off the subway. Probably she was stuck because of a service change or broken train or some police incident. Just their luck.

That was okay, though. He’d managed to wait weeks for this; he could hang on a few minutes more.

As he entered the floor with the photo studios, he overheard some distant dance music. Oh, right, he’d seen a memo; some photog from HUDSON had asked to do some freelance stuff at night. Though it was slightly dismaying not to have the whole building for whatever romantic adventures he and Betty would get up to later, Daniel had to admit that particular aspect of his fantasy was kind of overkill. Probably it would take more than one night to make love to her on every single floor of Meade Publications; he ought to allow at least a week or two. They could start with MODE and get to the photo studio later. Like, Saturday. And hey, maybe the photographer had candles.

He walked toward the studio, through the darkened hallways, illuminated only by emergency EXIT signs. A light shone nearer the elevators, though –

Daniel froze at what he saw: Betty being held at gunpoint, by … Jesus, was that Victoria Hartley?

At first it made no sense, like his brain understood what the image was but refused to translate it into reality he could comprehend. It was the blank fear in Betty’s eyes that sank in first, an expression so stark and so terrible that he felt it with nearly physical pain. Then terror gripped him as he realized that was he was seeing was real, and that Betty was in horrible danger.

Victoria Hartley – was she the one who’d tried to kill him? The would-be murderer he’d convinced himself didn’t exist? He’d let his hormones get the better of him, and he’d lured Betty out here, and now – oh, God.

 _“Mrs. Hartley – think this over – ”_

 _“I have. It doesn’t really matter if they find your bodies together or apart.”_

The small, scared side of him wanted to run as far away as he could from his attempted killer, as fast as possible. The stronger side of him – the side that had fallen for Betty Suarez – made him want to run out there between her and that gun.

There was never any question which side was going to win.

But temporarily, he made both of them take a back seat to his much-neglected, yet ever-improving, smart side.

Quickly Daniel texted his mother: _Being held hostage by V. Hartley near photo studio in MP building. Betty too. Get cops. Come quick._ His fingers shook, but he made sure to be accurate. This was no time for autocomplete to confuse things. Once he was sure the message was correct, he sent it and prayed that Mom was actually checking her phone right now.

Then he set the phone down, took a deep breath, and walked down the hallway toward Betty.

It took a couple steps for them to notice him. When Victoria straightened, stepping back to angle the gun at him, Betty cried out, a sound of despair – like him being in trouble was worse than her being here alone. Which was nuts. But they could argue that later. Daniel held up his hands as he said, “Let’s all take it easy.”

“Why not?” Victoria said. “Everything just became so much easier. If you and Betty could kneel down together –”

“Daniel, don’t,” Betty whispered.

He didn’t need to be told that. The first time he got on his knees beside Betty was not going to be for a gangland-style execution.

So Daniel kept moving forward until he was able to step between Betty and Victoria, effectively shielding her from the gun. Betty’s hands pushed against his back, obviously trying to keep him from taking all the risk, but Daniel didn’t let her move him. It wasn’t that he _enjoyed_ putting himself in harm’s way – at the moment, it was all he could do to keep from peeing his pants – but it was still less terrifying than seeing Betty held hostage, unprotected.

“Don’t tell me,” Victoria said, with a waspish humor that made her seem almost like her old self for a moment. “I’ll have to go through you to get to her.”

“Something like that.” Daniel kept his arms slightly out from his sides, the better to keep Betty from trying to do something dangerous like darting back into range.

Victoria shrugged. “Fine by me.”

**

Halfway across town, as Yoga frantically motioned the slow waiter to bring them their check already, Claire tried Betty’s phone yet again: Still no answer. Daniel wasn’t answering at home, either. He couldn’t possibly have been reckless enough to leave the house unguarded, could he?

Just as she prepared to call his cell, and to begin that call by bitching him out for setting one foot beyond her doorstep, her phone chimed, telling her she had a text. Claire, not much of a texter, frowned in confusion the moment before she read the message:

 _Being held hostage by V. Hartley near photo studio in MP building. Betty too. Get cops. Come quick._

Claire gasped so loudly that people across the restaurant turned to stare at her, but she couldn’t have cared less. Yoga said, “Fish? What’s wrong?”

“Victoria Hartley is holding Daniel and Betty hostage at Meade Publications.” The words were almost too horrible to believe, but she did believe it. “We have to call the police. Alert security.”

Yoga’s strong hand closed over one of hers. “Steady now. We’re on it. Let me call the cops, all right? Do that deep breathing thing you tell me about.”

“My son is in danger! I can’t do deep breathing when – ”

“The hell you can’t. You’re Claire Meade. Last time I checked, you could do anything.”

Which was very sweet if not at all realistic. Claire tried to center herself as Yoga called 911; given her history with law enforcement, that was a grand gesture.

“She’s always hated Betty, but Daniel – why Daniel?” Claire murmured. Maybe it was just that he was a Meade; maybe Victoria wanted to destroy them all, one by one, and poor Betty had the misfortune of being too close to Daniel at the wrong moment. The motives made no sense, and cruel though Victoria Hartley could be, Claire had never imagined that she could be a murderer.

Then again, she’d never imagined it of herself … and even if the poisoned perfume had driven her over the edge, Claire had still been the one watching Fey Sommers burn to death. It had taken longer than she would ever admit to any other human being. And she had enjoyed it.

If Victoria’s madness was half as acute as hers had been back then, then Daniel was in desperate danger. Betty too, and that frightened Claire – but no terror could be greater than that for a child.

“They’re on their way,” Yoga said. “Who else do we need to call?”

“Building security.” Claire took the phone back; for her son, she would get through this. She grabbed a couple hundreds out of her purse and threw them on the table: to hell with the check. “I’ll call them myself. You hail the cab.”

Claire knew not to rush into the scene herself, but she was going to be as close as possible to her child while he was in danger. Nothing else was even endurable.

**

As Claire Meade and her unknown companion (a bit of lez-yay there?) dashed out, they passed the quiet, soft-spoken couple at the table behind them, never turning their heads. The wife sighed and said, “This was supposed to be our special night out.”

“I know, honey. I know. And I promise to make it up to you. But when the editor of the world’s top fashion magazine gets taken hostage by a Manhattan society doyenne?” The husband ran one hand through his well-combed hair, unconsciously beginning the process of ruffling it back into spikes. “That’s when I have to get my Suzuki St. Pierre on.”

**

Betty pressed her hands against Daniel’s back, warm through his T-shirt. He’d run out here and gotten himself in danger – and she’d tried so hard to keep him out of it! – so it was hard to know whether to feel deeply moved at his courage and selflessness or to just kick his ass for being so stupid.

Both, probably. One right after the other. Or at the same time. But right now she had to keep them both alive.

“Mrs. Hartley, why?” Betty said. Though she didn’t dare look around Daniel’s body, she knew Victoria would be able to hear. “I just want to understand. That’s all. Even if you were mad at me for the breakup with Matt – ” Which made no sense, given that Matt was the one who had dumped her, but obviously it played a role anyway. “—why would you want to hurt Daniel?”

“You’re both so arrogant,” Victoria spat. “So self-centered. You try and try to replace my son. All of you.”

“Nobody’s trying to replace Matt,” Daniel said quickly. “He’s in Africa these days, right? Doing charity work? That’s, like, amazing. I’m not that nice. I’ll just own that right now.”

“It’s not about you!” Victoria shouted. She was getting angrier. That was bad. Betty began to more seriously considering some Tae Kwon Do moves. Yeah, she was only a white belt, but all she'd have to do would be knock Victoria down, right?

But then she replayed Victoria's words in her head, and that was the moment that a switch turned on in Betty’s mind and she realized the real motive – and the real target.

Betty said, “You weren’t after Daniel before. And you weren’t even after me, not until you saw that we were – uh, getting closer.”

“Replacing my son,” Victoria insisted. Though Betty couldn’t see her, she could hear the increasing shakiness of her voice, the edge that brought them closer and closer to danger.

Daniel shifted from foot to foot, obviously as confused as he was uneasy. “But why would you sabotage the helicopter, or follow us to Betty’s apartment – ”

“She didn’t follow us,” Betty said. “Daniel, she was already at my building. Because it’s also Amanda’s building.”

“Why would you want to kill Amanda?” Then Daniel gasped. “Oh, my God. You – you were after _Tyler_.”

“Don’t say his name.” Victoria’s laugh was a broken thing, almost a sob. “Do you know what it does to a woman, to find out her husband – the father of her child – got some other woman pregnant? Not just some slut, but your worst enemy? And now she keeps parading that other son around – the son that’s handsome where your son is ordinary, the son who’s devoted to the mother who _abandoned him_ while your son you raised every day isn’t even speaking to you -- the son who’s here when your son is far away. He’s picked your bitch of a mother over me before. She’s tried to replace me. But I stopped her. I won him back.”

 _Meaning Claire threw Cal out on his ear,_ Betty thought, but there was no way she was saying that out loud. This woman was way too close to the edge. Carefully, she went on tiptoe and pressed her lips against Daniel’s shoulder blade – the only caress she could manage, the only touch she dared. One of his hands reached backward, and Betty grabbed it, entangling their fingers so tightly it almost hurt. It seemed possible that she would truly never let go.

Victoria continued ranting. “But now Claire wants to replace Matt. And that is never, ever going to happen.”

“Nobody wants to replace Matt,” Daniel said, more quietly. His thumb made small, nervous circles against Betty’s palm. “Cal won’t even acknowledge that Tyler’s really his.”

“I told you – don’t say that name.” Her voice was ragged now. “It would have been cleaner if you’d all plunged into the water together. No evidence. No proof. But I wasn’t afraid to try again. To remove that stain forever. Then I see yet another Meade, slobbering all over a girl Matt inexplicably loved. Taking away something else that rightfully belongs to him.”

Betty knew she rightfully belonged to herself and nobody else, plus she and Daniel were still way too far from slobbering all over each other. But this wasn’t the time to argue. It was the time to reason. Or, failing that, to stall. The longer they kept Victoria Hartley talking, the longer they had for someone else to interrupt them, or for Victoria to come back to her senses, or just – or just the longer they had to live.

She tried, “You – acted on impulse. You hadn’t planned to hurt me or Daniel. That’s not really what you wanted.”

No reply. Daniel’s fingers tightened around hers, like he was saying, _Oh, that’s good, keep trying that!_

“You were watching the Meade mansion in hopes you’d see your real target. Following Daniel – that was more of a whim. But you shouldn’t get distracted.” Betty kept talking, faster and faster, hoping this line of thought made sense to a mind as twisted up as Victoria’s seemed to be. “If you’re arrested for hurting me and Daniel, you’ll never get a chance at Tyler.”

Victoria shrieked, “ _Don’t say that name_!”

**

Tyler said, “Do you guys hear that?”

Marc, who was currently curled right next to Cliff – to hold the reflector at the right angle, of course – quickly said, “We’re hearing nothing but the music, baby! Keep working it!”

“No, he’s right,” Cliff said. “Somebody’s talking outside. A couple somebodies.”

From the corner where Amanda was helping angle a light so that it bounced off Tyler’s sculpted cheekbones, she huffed. “So somebody else is sneaking around after hours. Big whoop. Unless they steal my Almond Joys – would they do that?”

Marc wanted to groan. This was the closest he’d been to Cliff in years – legs touching, elbows brushing – and he could breathe in his cologne. Who cared if it was a drugstore brand? Just being so near the one man he’d truly loved – and knowing Cliff didn’t mind being near him either – it was easily the best thing that had happened to him in months, and he didn’t want it to end.

But there was definitely a ruckus in the hallway.

Tyler sat up, ruining the carefully constructed shot Cliff had arranged – and making Marc’s position by his side unnecessary. “They’re not just talking out there,” Tyler said. “They’re arguing.”

Sighing, Cliff set down his camera and got to his feet. The long side of Marc’s body that had been pressed next to him felt suddenly cold. “We ought to check it out, huh, Marc?”

Being asked for advice – that was a good sign, right? Marc hurriedly scrambled to stand beside Cliff. “Probably so. Better safe than sorry.”

“You used to prefer being sorry to safe,” Cliff muttered.

 _Oh, snap._ But instead of snarking back or changing the subject – which would formerly have been his plans A and B – Marc met Cliff’s eyes evenly as he said, voice low, “Not anymore.”

Their eyes met, and for a long moment, Marc could feel Cliff’s uncertainty as deeply as his own – the longing and the distrust, roped together, one and the same and maybe never to be tangled apart. Could Cliff feel his regret the same way? His desire to try again? It seemed as if he had to. Surely he did.

Then Amanda said, “Let’s get these candy-bar robbing jackasses!”

The mood killed, Marc sighed and joined in with the others as they all walked toward the door nearest the elevators. Probably it was nothing – L’amanda having another fight with her latest boyfriend via cell phone headset – and they’d all be back in with the music and lights again within a few minutes. He could get close to Cliff again during the shooting … maybe offer to help clean up afterwards. Amanda and Tyler would probably take off, leaving him and Cliff alone in a great big room with a whole lot of mood lighting. There were possibilities there, right? Oh, the night was still young.

“Hello out there!” Cliff called. “Anything the matter?”

Which seemed like a totally rhetorical question until Tyler opened the door to reveal Daniel and Betty – by the long-withered soul of Anna Wintour, was that Victoria Hartley – _holding a gun on them_? It couldn’t be! It was! “Holy crap,” he whispered, unconsciously putting out a hand to pull Cliff back.

Daniel’s eyes widened. “Tyler, get out of here!”

“It’s you,” Victoria hissed, and she turned so that the gun wasn’t pointed at Betty and Daniel any longer. Now it was pointed at Tyler, and by extension Marc, Amanda and Cliff too, which was pretty much Marc’s personal definition of “from bad to worse.”

“What’s going on?” Tyler said, obviously too astonished to react quickly.

“What’s going on is that all my son’s problems are about to be resolved,” Victoria said, and she adjusted her hold like a woman on the verge of firing.

Which was when Betty leaped out shouting “Hyah!” or some other kind of martial arts thing, and Victoria stumbled to the side, but the gun was still in her hands and everyone was suddenly screaming and trying to run in about three directions at once. Marc felt like he was surrounded by chaos and terror, which seemed like the worst thing in the world –

\--until that chaos was silenced by the deafening blast of a gunshot.

**

“We interrupt this Fashion TV special “Speidi: The Downfall” to bring you this breaking news! I, Suzuki St. Pierre, have exclusively learned that MODE editor-in-chief and playboy cum laude Daniel Meade, along with some few insignificant little people, is being held hostage at gunpoint in the fashion mag’s headquarters – by none other than Manhattan society bigwig and woman scorned Victoria Hartley! Mrs. Hartley is rumored to be armed, dangerous and wearing mismatched separates, though police on the scene have thus far failed to communicate any details of the wardrobes of anyone involved. This crime spree can only be revenge against the House of Meade – perhaps for financier Cal Hartley’s rumored affair with Mad Murdering Mama Claire last year? Or maybe this is what just happens when you mix St. John’s knits with a Chanel bag! Stay tuned to Fashion TV for the lowdown on the high crimes of the high and mighty!”

Justin turned from the television toward his mother and mouthed _Ohh-Emm-Gee_. In his recliner, Papi looked deeply concerned. “Oh, my God. Daniel’s in trouble? _Again_?”

“We keep on saying that,” Hilda replied as she went for her phone. If anybody had the skinny on what was happening at MODE, it would be Betty; she still seemed to be in touch with Daniel all the time. It was possible that Betty wouldn’t know – she might have been out at her Tae Kwon Leap classes or whatever they were – but then Hilda needed to be the one to break it to her gently. That girl could get more frightened for Daniel than she did for herself.

But Betty didn’t answer.

Hilda quickly texted, _Betty, pick up. We got a situation here._

Still no reply.

That didn’t have to mean anything, Hilda knew. Betty might be in one of her classes. On the Q train. In the shower.

Yet a prickle of fear swept up the back of her neck, an instinct she’d learned to trust.

 _Along with some few, insignificant little people …_

“Justin,” she said, “Let’s change the channel.”

“Change the channel?” Justin sounded as bewildered as well he might. “This is the biggest thing to happen on Fashion TV since Christina gave birth live during Fashion Week! Besides, it’s _Daniel_.”

Carefully turning her face so that her father couldn’t see it, Hilda repeated, “Change the channel. This is just gonna be a lot of rumors and lies. We’ll get the facts from Betty instead of freaking ourselves out watching this.” She gave her son a look, willing him to get the picture.

Justin’s eyes widened. Thank God, he got it.

On the screen behind him, Suzuki was speaking to a heavyset woman wearing some kind of uniform. “Now, L’amanda, you’re sure the skirt didn’t match the jacket?”

“I may be a security guard, but I’m a guard at MODE, and that means I know a knockoff when I see one. No way the lapels on that crazy woman were legit.” Suzuki shook his head sorrowfully.

“What does Betty say?” Papi asked, as Justin obediently went to the remote and changed it to some cooking show. Food Network was probably the only TV channel that wouldn’t be covering this live within ten minutes; good thing her father rarely surfed the internet, because this would light up gossip and news sites worldwide.

“Betty says to hang on. She’s busy finding out about Daniel.” It was what her sister would say, if she could, so Hilda felt as though it weren’t really a lie.

**

The air smelled of gunpowder, and Daniel’s ears rang so that he could hear nothing else. He stumbled blindly against the wall, grabbed a hand he hoped was Betty’s and dragged her the way he’d come. She pushed past him – it was Betty, thank God – and seemed to find a doorknob almost before he could see it. Within a split second they were in a small room – a closet? Something like – with the door shut between them and Victoria Hartley’s gun.

Once he could hear again, he heard the distant beat of the dance music from Tyler’s photo shoot – still playing happily on, like their whole world hadn’t just turned upside down.

Daniel wrapped Betty in his arms, clutching her fiercely to his chest. The only illumination was dim emergency lighting showing through the cracks of the door, but it was enough to make out the silhouette of her dark hair against his shoulder, the full curve of her cheek. His entire body shook from adrenalin, and he could feel her trembling too, but it didn’t matter. They were together, and they were safe.

Or so it seemed, until he heard Victoria Hartley shout over the beat, “I got you! You can hide, but I know – I got you.”

“Blood,” Betty whispered. “I saw blood on the floor.”

“You’re okay?” Daniel spoke as softly as it was possible to, with more breath than voice.

“Yeah. You?”

“Uh-huh.” But that meant someone else was hurt. Maybe badly. Maybe fatally.

And Victoria Hartley seemed to think it was his brother.

“I shouldn’t have rushed at her like that.” Betty’s whisper was choked with unshed tears. “I’m only a white belt! It made her fire – ”

“She was going to fire anyway. If you hadn’t thrown her off, we’d all be dead, okay? So stop beating yourself up about it. You took action. That’s the main thing.”

“I’m not so sure.”

But she rested her head against his shoulder, as if taking comfort, and Daniel felt like maybe he’d gotten through.

A small movement against his leg made them both jump, but then Betty breathed out in relief. “My phone’s on vibrate. Whew. My ringtone right now is ‘Tik Tok’ by Ke$ha and I’m pretty sure that would’ve given us away.”

“Can you tell them to call back later? Jesus.”

“I’m going to text them where we are and to get us help.” Betty grabbed the phone. “Oh, good, it’s Hilda.”

That was what his smart side would have told him to do, if he’d been listening. But Daniel thought he was about to listen to his strong side for a while.

His brother was in trouble. And he knew what he had to do.

**

“Got you?” Amanda whispered amid the silver veils where she was hiding with Tyler. Thank God for that music; otherwise Victoria would have been able to hear them whispering, moving, maybe even breathing. “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah, except that I want to throw up.” Tyler leaned against Amanda’s shoulder for a moment, then pulled away, as if he were afraid he were hurting her just by that touch.

Amanda frowned, real fear finally seeping in to replace shock. “Then – who did she get?”

**

Marc and Cliff seemed to fall together amid the plaster angels, which camouflaged them with their unfolded wings. At first it was all mostly dizzying and confusing, and Marc was more relieved than frightened until he tried to prop himself up and get some idea of where Victoria Hartley was, the better to improve their hiding place.

But then his arm gave way beneath him, and he realized just running shouldn’t make you that dizzy, and then – late, following behind him the way a sonic boom followed a plane at Mach 2 – the pain caught up and slammed into Marc, making him gasp in the effort not to scream.

“Marc!” Cliff’s stricken face lowered over his. “Oh, my God.”

A glance down at his arm revealed that his once-pristine, snow-gray shirt was now dark red and wet with blood that was probably his. Definitely his.

“I’ve been shot,” Marc murmured. “Which is kind of me being Captain Obvious –”

“No one cares if you’re Captain Obvious!” Cliff scrambled to take off his belt, which brought up all kinds of pleasant memories, at least until he wrapped it around Marc’s upper arm as a makeshift tourniquet. The pressure somehow made the pain even worse, and he had to bite down on his lower lip to keep from crying out. Cliff whispered, “It’s just the arm – ”

“Just? _Just_? Say that when it’s your arm!”

“You’re bleeding a lot.” The whiteness of Cliff’s face made Marc realize that Cliff wasn’t underestimating this at all. In fact, he looked as if he were even more scared than Marc felt. How much was he bleeding? “Keep still. Please, Marc. You have to keep still.”

Marc nodded. It wasn’t like he was about to jump up and start Jazzercizing any time soon.

Cliff slipped one arm beneath Marc’s head, cradling him close – he could feel the warmth of Cliff’s skin against his, feel the pounding of his heart through his palm and elbow. It was almost like being held by Cliff again, the way they used to curl in bed together in the days when Marc hadn’t known how good he had it. He knew now. He liked being reminded.

If only he weren’t in too much pain to enjoy it.

**

Betty’s hands shook as she tapped out which floor they were on, the fact that she and Daniel were safe but that someone else had been shot, and of course the key point: _Do NOT let Papi watch this!_

 _Of course! I’m not stupid! I’m calling the cops now._

 _Call Claire Meade. They’ll believe her faster; they’ll think you’re a nutcase._

 _You’re lucky you’re in danger because otherwise I would take that personally._

 _Just do it, OK?_

Betty slipped the phone back in her green fringed purse, which still dangled merrily from her elbow like it didn’t know the night had taken a horrible detour. She put her arms back around Daniel, whose face was outlined by the reddish light just outside. “Hilda’s calling your mom. The cops will know where we are any second now. All we have to do is hang tight.”

“I have to go back out there.”

“What?”

“She’s after Tyler,” Daniel said. The sliver of his face she could make out in the darkness was set, firm. “He might be hurt, so I have to help him. He’s my brother. I … I think I didn’t get that until now. Not really. But he is.”

“Daniel, no!” Betty fought to keep her voice at a whisper; her fingers clutched at the neck of his T-shirt. “Victoria tried to kill you too. She’ll do it for sure if she gets the chance.”

“Tyler might be bleeding to death out there. I can’t just stand here while that’s happening to my brother. You wouldn’t if it were Hilda, would you?”

Betty knew she wouldn’t, but the thought of letting Daniel walk back out into danger was unbearable. At least he wouldn’t have to be alone. “We’ll both go. I can help you – I don’t know, help get him to safety – ”

“Betty, no.” Daniel’s hands gripped her upper arms, an embrace simultaneously painful and necessary. “There’s nothing you can do out there. Anyway, two of us are louder than one.”

“So you want me to wait here while you go out there? I can’t take that.”

“You have to,” he insisted. “You can make contact with Hilda. My mom. The cops. You should be the one to handle it, and that’s definitely our best chance. Which means I have to be the one to go back out there.”

“What are you going to do other than make yourself another target?”

“I know this place backwards and forwards, Betty. Come on. One of my first memories is playing hide and seek with Alex in this building!”

“This is not a game of hide and seek!”

“Don’t you think I know that? At any rate, I’ve got an advantage.” Daniel kept speaking evenly, though she could hear the edge of fright beneath it all. That was what convinced her he was talking sense: He didn’t think he was invulnerable. He knew just how dangerous this was. But he felt he had to do it anyway. “I’m going to be careful. I won’t be any worse off than the others out there. So I’m not taking any chances they aren’t taking.”

Why did Daniel have to pick now to get logical?

They stared at each other for a long moment, their faces close in the dark, shadow on shadow. She knew Daniel’s face more by memory and understanding than by sight – the desperation in his eyes, the tension in his long face, the tenderness as his arms folded around hers.

“Say you’ll stay in this closet,” he whispered. “You’ll stay safe until the cops get here. Promise me.”

Stubbornly, Betty insisted, “Or until I find another way to help.” Not that she could imagine what the hell that would be.

“Trust me, if you think of something else to try, I one hundred percent want to hear it. Until then, you stay safe.” Daniel’s voice sounded equal parts loving and exasperated. “Okay?”

Betty couldn’t say yes. She couldn’t give words to any agreement about Daniel going back out into lethal danger while she remained protected. But she knew what he said made sense, for all of them, and so she nodded.

“Okay,” he breathed, as his face dipped nearer to hers. Her heartbeat pounded so that it nearly drowned out his voice. Betty turned her mouth up to his as their lips met in their first kiss.

The touch, tentative at first, deepened within an instant – Daniel’s mouth opening hers, searching hers, as they pulled each other closer. She slid her palms along his back to his waist to press them together, wanting to touch him in every way they could touch during this one irreplaceable moment. His hands slid up her back to frame her face to hold her there as they kissed each other desperately, knowing it might be the only time.

Everything slammed into her at once – the intensity of the kiss, the depth of her feelings for him, the danger of their situation, the fact that this was _Daniel_ , her Daniel, the best friend she’d ever had and now perhaps the man she’d wanted more than any other. Betty thought she had never understood how much she cared for him before now, when they breathed in and out together, drank the taste of each other, and she knew how much it would truly hurt to lose him forever.

When their lips parted, neither of them could speak. Daniel leaned his forehead against hers for a long moment; his breaths came as fast and shallow as hers.

Finally he whispered, “We’re gonna do that again.”

“If we don’t, I will follow you to the afterlife and kick your ass.”

She felt his smile against her cheek. “Betty – ”

“Tell me later,” she murmured. “See? You have to come back and tell me later.”

“I will. I promise.”

“You better.”

Amid the shadows, their eyes met for one agonizing moment. Then Daniel let go of her – a separation as shocking and painful as anything else that had happened that night – and put his hand on the doorknob.

Betty shrank back further into the closet; as much as it hurt to watch him leave, she knew she had to do it. For a long moment, Daniel stood at the door, listening for Victoria Hartley over the still-thumping music. Apparently he heard nothing, because he opened the door and darted out into the hallway, careful to shut Betty in safe behind him.

When the darkness folded around her again, Betty closed her eyes tightly to hold back the tears.

**

“You’re sure about this?” the police sergeant asked.

“I’m positive!” Claire held up her phone, complete with Hilda’s message. “This comes straight from – my son’s former assistant’s sister in Queens.” The sergeant gave her a look, which Claire decided to ignore. “If that’s where Betty says they are, that’s where they are. Get up there!”

Apparently they were willing to take her word for it; at any rate, the SWAT team began to move. Claire sagged against Yoga’s shoulder, grateful to know that her son was alive (for the moment), that they had a plan of action (for what it was worth), that Betty and Daniel were apparently at least friends again (despite Daniel blowing the romance she’d hoped for), that at least they were doing something –

“Claire!”

Slowly she turned to see Cal Hartley striding toward her, parting the crowds of police and other security personnel as though he were Moses and they were the Red Sea. It was so inevitable that he was here – this was his wife, after all – and yet he was the last person she’d wanted to see.

I can’t believe I ever loved him, Claire thought, and even as the words formed in her mind she finally understood that she never had. She had loved an idea of Cal – a fantasy – that had nothing to do with the real man.

“What’s going on?” Cal demanded.

“Your wife is holding my son hostage,” Claire said, gripping Yoga’s hand tightly for borrowed strength. “At least one other person as well. And she’s got a gun. Do you need any more details than that?”

She’d expected him to snap at her, to say something snide or cover his own ass. Instead, Cal sagged against the nearest police car. The pulsing blue and red lights around them highlighted the wrinkles in his face, all the years between then and now. “Christ,” he said, and his voice was broken. “Jesus Christ.”

“Cal?”

“Don’t you dare judge me,” he said. His voice was like the crunching of gravel or the cracking of stone. “This woman – this woman I loved, and had a son with, and made a life with – I had to confess another child to her, and watch her break from the inside out, and know it’s my fault – had to deny him just to have some hope of keeping her stable –”

Claire was long past the point of being able to feel sorry for either Calvin or Victoria Hartley. But in this moment she could see him as a man and not a monster, see her as more victim than vicious. “She needed medication, Cal. Or a therapist. Or both. Maybe institutionalization.”

“You think I don’t know that? You think I didn’t try?”

“I don’t think about you as much as you wish I did,” Claire snapped. “All I know is that Daniel’s in danger. His friend Betty, too. If Victoria’s sick, then it’s not her fault. As far as I’m concerned, it’s yours.”

Cal’s piercing eyes met hers, anger as powerful between them as passion had ever been. “It’s _ours,_ and you know it.”

She did.

“Don’t listen to him, Fish,” Yoga said. Claire was ashamed to realize she’d nearly forgotten Yoga was there … Yoga, who had stood by her and been loyal, whereas Cal had betrayed her every time. Yoga, who had repeatedly risked her own freedom to get whatever it was Claire needed, while Cal had always taken what he needed and never asked whether Claire wanted anything at all. As she glanced over at Yoga, Claire felt weirdly as if she’d never seen this woman before, not in any true light – but she did now. “This is Victoria Hartley’s fault, and nobody else’s. So y’all chill, all right?”

“All right,” Claire said slowly. She wrapped her hand around Yoga’s, not caring if Cal saw, or Suzuki St. Pierre, or the whole world.

**

Being brave for Betty’s sake was easier than being brave for his own, Daniel realized. While he’d been holding Betty, insisting he would be all right, he’d felt steady and sure. Now that he was inching along the hallway corridor toward the photo studio, attempting to fold his body like origami in order to fit in the deepest shadows, he felt like he was in imminent danger of barfing. Which would kind of give him away. So he held on to it.

Finally he wedged himself into a corner that would allow him to see inside the studio. He’d never understood just how surreal a photo studio looked before. Lights shone brightly on a pile of packing crates, but the rest of the large room was filled with weird objects, which cast even weirder shadows. Daniel couldn’t see Tyler, or any of the others for that matter, but he could see Victoria Hartley.

She stood almost in the center of the room. Her high heels had tracked something in on the floor – blood, he realized with a shock. A lot of it. Crap.

“Come out, Tyler,” she crooned. “You know you don’t belong here. You know you have no reason to exist. Come out and I’ll let the others go. Except Daniel and Betty, of course. But your other friends don’t matter. Don’t you want them to be safe? Come on out. Or else I swear I’ll finish you all.”

 _Don’t do it, Tyler!_ Daniel thought. Which normally he wouldn’t have had any concerns about, because Victoria’s offer was not exactly the most inviting in the world. But there was something about the darkness in his brother’s eyes sometimes – the hollow expression he’d worn when he left rehab, the fact that he’d come so close to hurting Mom – and Daniel knew that Victoria’s cutting words had sliced down to the bone.

 _You know you don’t belong here._

**

Amid the shifting silvery veils, Amanda gripped Tyler’s hands in her own. “You belong here,” she whispered. “You belong with me.”

“It has to be more than that,” he murmured.

“What are you talking about? I am reason enough for anyone to live!” She nearly stamped her foot to emphasize her point before remembering that was a truly bad idea with a crazed gunwoman just a few feet away.

Tyler just shook his head absently. “Who the hell are these people? How am I a part of them? How are they a part of me? I just – I can’t – ”

“Hey!”

Amanda managed, somehow, not to scream or gasp out loud as another voice came from around their feet – Tyler went white but didn’t faint. Panic turned to relief as she looked down and saw Daniel on his hands and knees, half-draped in one of the silvery veils.

“What are you doing down there?” Tyler said over the thumping dance beat.

“Playing hide and seek,” Daniel said.

“So not the time, Daniel!” Amanda huffed.

He didn’t seem to hear her, though; he got to his feet and motioned toward the far corner. “There’s an emergency staircase back that way. Looks like the drapes cover it, and she won’t hear the hinges over that music.”

Something happened to Tyler’s face then – something that made him look much younger, and somehow happier, even though he was clearly, like the rest of them, still scared shitless. “You came back out here for me?”

“Yeah. You’re the only brother I’ve got.”

The moment sort of shone between them, but Amanda had to ask: “Alexis doesn’t count?”

Shaking his head, Daniel said, “Once she pees sitting down, she’s your sister. End of story. Come on. We’ll get you guys out of here and I’ll head back for Betty. The others, if I can find them.”

Amanda said, “Did Betty die? Because I hope not.” She hadn’t actually thought about it a whole lot before that moment, but Betty dying would be really sad, even if she did inherit the apartment. But surely Daniel wouldn’t go back to collect a corpse. You could always get that later.

“She’s fine. You’re fine. Which means – ”

All that blood on the floor came from somewhere. From someone. Cliff or –

Amanda covered her mouth with her hands to hold in the scream.

**

“My whole life is flashing before my eyes,” Marc whispered drowsily. “My God, I’ve always been so – well-dressed.”

Cliff hissed, “Will you shut up about your life flashing in front of you? You’re gonna be fine!”

“Not a fashion mistake in the bunch. Like – like a slideshow of – Jackie Onassis.” The plum skinny jeans. The checked waistcoat. His crushed red velvet jacket for Hilda’s wedding. A man could die with pride, thinking back on a track record like that.

Really, he didn’t have too many regrets, Marc decided … aside from getting shot in the first place, which was definitely going in the “Whoops” column of life. Though he wished he weren’t estranged from his mother, he was proud of having come out to her and told her the truth, and besides, at least he hadn’t wasted any more time listening to the tales of Lady Buttons of Camelot.

The one thing he hated most – the one thing he would choose above all others to do over if he had the chance – well, maybe he still had the chance.

With his good arm, Marc reached up to touch Cliff’s shoulder. “Just so you know, Cliff – you were the best –”

“Don’t even,” Cliff whispered, startlingly forceful. “You even try to pull any ‘deathbed confessions,’ and I swear to God, I’ll finish you off myself. You’re going to be fine, Marc. The end. We’re not even pretending any different.”

That was – not how Marc had wanted that to go, but hey, at least Cliff was thinking positive, right?

Somebody needed to, because it was getting more difficult on Marc’s end. His arm had kept turning up the volume on the pain, all the way to eleven, until a couple minutes ago, when it had gone cold and numb. He didn’t know how the absence of that kind of pain could be worse, but it was. Marc felt as though … as though his arm had died ahead of the rest of him.

Everything seemed to be too far away, and he remained as dizzy as if he’d just climbed off a Tilt-A-Whirl at Coney Island, and the back-and-forth click-clack of Victoria Hartley’s heels – her crazy, pointless pacing – just scared him worse every second, like there were whole new dimensions of scared undiscovered by science until now. The plaster angel overhead was reminding him way too much of a gravestone. Nausea racked his body, and the hot blood covering his shirt and pooling beneath his back seemed like more than he could spare.

The situation couldn’t get any worse.

Until suddenly, the music stopped.

“Should’ve shut that stupid thing off minutes ago,” Victoria said, her voice creepily childlike. “Now I can hear you all. I can find you now.”

Cliff lowered himself over Marc, literally doing the human shield thing. Which was stupid and futile and pretty much the most amazing thing anybody had done for him ever.

He still wished Cliff had let him say what he’d wanted to say, but now Marc knew it wasn’t necessary.

Cliff understood. He always had.

**

Betty’s heart pounded so fast in her chest that it felt as if it would hammer through her ribs and break them.

 _Without the music, Victoria will be able to hear every footstep. Every breath. She’ll hunt them down and kill them one by one. Me being in this closer just means she’ll kill me last._

 _I’ll have to hear her shoot Daniel –_

The thought was unbearable.

It had been bad enough during the few hours last month when she’d thought Daniel might have drowned in the Hudson River. Now, though – now that she really understood her feeling for him, his feelings for her – now that she’d kissed him – Betty comprehended more fully than ever before everything that he was to her. The first person outside her family who had believed in her, seen something special in her and given her a chance. The boss who had taught her how to get by in the working world and allowed her every mistake, every preference, to increase her odds of success. The best friend who had consoled her after breakups, helped her family out in times of trouble and celebrated with her when things were good. The guy she was falling for. The guy she desired.

The man she –

Betty couldn’t think it. Not now, when she could lose him so easily. She willed herself to somehow forget all that – to imagine herself as the chipper, poncho-clad girl who had walked in here four years ago only wanting to help. How best could she help? That was what she had to focus on.

She went for her phone, intending to text Hilda or Claire that the situation had become more dire and the SWAT team might consider dropping in any time now … but then it vibrated in her hand. Someone else was calling, or texting – swear to God, if Christina was drunk-dialing her again after a night out with Stuart –

But then Betty read the name beside the number, and her eyes went wide.

**

“Well, well, well,” Victoria said as she stepped closer to the wall of veils. Daniel felt Amanda grab one hand, and he reached out to Tyler with the other. They were all standing in a ring now, waiting for the inevitable. “Are these – shadows I see?”

 _Damn it_ , Daniel thought. _Betty was right about me staying in there with her. Remember that thing I realized earlier, where Betty was always right? How do I keep forgetting this?_

Then his eyes met his brother’s and he knew walking out here hadn’t been for nothing.

Suicidal, unfortunately, but not for nothing.

Victoria’s heels clicked against the cement floor, and goosebumps rose on Daniel’s flesh as he heard her cock the pistol. “I can see you now, I think. One of you. I’ll see which after you fall to the floor.”

Daniel tightened his grip around Tyler’s and Amanda’s, holding his breath, unable to do anything else –

\--until he heard Betty from the far side of the room. “Excuse me. Mrs. Hartley? There’s a phone call for you.”

Daniel nearly started forward, the better to distract Victoria from firing at Betty in the final 1.3 seconds of his life, but Tyler held him back.

Quickly – apparently before Victoria could re-aim – Betty added, “It’s Matt. Your son.”

“Matt?” Victoria whispered.

“ _Mom_?” Matt’s voice was faint; Betty probably had the volume up to maximum, but she still stood some distance away … wisely, in Daniel’s opinion. “ _Listen to me, okay? You don’t have to do this._ ”

“I thought you were still in Africa – ”

“ _I am. I got up this morning, and it was my turn to use the community computer, and the first website I loaded was covering this. There’s a lot of news media outside the Meade building, and the police are headed up even now. So you need to stop, Mom. When the police get there, they need to find you sitting down and calm. Give the gun to Betty._ ”

Daniel dared to lean forward so that only one of the veils shielded him from Victoria’s sight – and it was so translucent that he knew she would be able to see him through it if she looked. However, her eyes were fixed on Betty (standing in the doorway, that blue dress brilliant even through the silver veil), or to be more precise, on the cell phone she held out in one hand.

Victoria’s voice cracked as she said, “You don’t understand. They’re all trying to replace you.”

After a pause, Matt said, “ _You mean Tyler._ ”

“Your father swore he wouldn’t tell you!” Victoria shrieked, an expression of rage so violent that Betty stumbled backward and Daniel wanted to dash out and help her. But Victoria remained focused on the conversation. “He promised me. He promised.”

“ _I needed to know, Mom! And it’s okay. Tyler doesn’t replace me. He’s my brother. I mean – I always wanted a brother. Is he there? Can I talk to him?_ ”

Since talking to Matt would mean giving himself away, Daniel turned to Tyler and shook his head. But Tyler didn’t listen. He stepped out, immediately, which was scary as all hell – but Victoria still didn’t fire. Tyler said, “Hi. It’s me. Tyler, I mean.”

“ _Hi. Sorry we’re meeting like this_.”

“It’s okay,” Tyler said, obviously glancing nervously at Victoria but edging closer. “I mean, it’s not okay, but – good to get to know you.”

Matt continued, “ _See, Mom? We’re all going to be good here. Just give Betty the gun, or Tyler. Somebody. Sit down and stay calm_.”

Victoria didn’t give anybody the gun, but she took a few steps backward and sat down in a nearby chair, over by the angels. Her hands fell to her sides, the gun now loose in her grip. She looked older now – like a decade had settled over her since the night began.

After a moment, Matt said, “ _Um, Mom_?”

“I think she’s okay now,” Betty said. “Matt, seriously, thank you.”

“ _No thanks necessary. Just glad you answered the phone even though it was me on the line_.”

A corner of Betty’s mouth lifted; obviously she was still kind of fond of Matt, which was annoying but seriously no big deal compared to the fact that it looked like they were all going to live.

Shakily, Daniel stepped out of his hiding place as well, Amanda just behind. His eyes met Betty’s, and she smiled weakly at him. Relief began to sink in as he realized they’d walk out of here together, hand in hand.

Cliff’s head popped up amid the angels then, and he didn’t look relieved at all. “We need a doctor, like, now.”

“Oh, my God – Marc!” Amanda dashed toward the angels; when Daniel followed, he gasped to see Marc sprawled on the floor, gory with blood and apparently not entirely conscious any longer. With a grimace, Amanda whirled back toward Victoria and cried, “You broke him!”

“ _Mom, let them call a doctor, okay? They need to call a doctor now._ ” Matt’s voice had become more urgent. He’d called not only to save them, Daniel realized, but also to save his mother from her own actions. After his own mother’s murder trial, he knew just how that felt. For a moment, he was almost sorry he’d ever hit Matt.

Well, no, not entirely sorry, because the guy was being a dick to Betty at the time, but a little bit.

“I’ve ruined everything,” Victoria moaned. “They’ll put me in a clinic now. Not one of the good ones, with Botox. One of the ones with padded walls.”

Betty stepped closer. “It’s going to be all right. You’ll see.”

“No, it won’t.” Victoria lifted the gun, and this time she pointed it at her own head.

“Mrs. Hartley, no!” Betty lunged forward even faster than Daniel could, knocking Victoria’s gun arm backwards before the blast. The bullet only hit one of the tallest angels, sending plaster dust snowing down through the room – and the angel toppling over, falling like a cut tree toward Betty and Victoria, smashing down on them both.

Daniel scrambled over the debris toward Betty. She lay on the floor, blood welling from a cut on her temple, completely unconscious. Next to her, Victoria groaned weakly; the gun, thank God, now lay halfway across the floor.

“Betty?” Daniel whispered, putting his hand to her cheek. She couldn’t be hurt or – no, it was impossible. Not now that the danger was supposed to be over –

\--and then suddenly there were about ten guys in black with rifles in the room, all of them shouting at once, and Daniel realized the SWAT team had arrived.

“About time!” Amanda shouted.

**

Nobody had given Claire any firm updates, but she could tell something radical had changed. The urgency had flowed out of the police personnel – while medical teams were now rushing inside the building. She tightened her fingers around Yoga’s and wished she were still the sort of woman who could pray.

A few steps away, Cal said, “It’s over. One way or another, it’s over.”

He probably needed comfort as badly as she did, or worse, but he would have to find it someplace else.

The crowds of paparazzi, farther back behind the police barricades, began murmuring and cameras started flashing as a figure in jeans and a white shirt emerged from the building. Claire gasped, fear and relief arriving together as she saw the son she hadn’t known was in danger – safe and sound. “Tyler!”

Tyler ran toward her – toward Cal too, who stood so close – and yet he dashed right by his father to wrap Claire in his arms.

“What were you doing in there?” she cried, hugging him tightly.

“A photo shoot,” he said, as if that made any sense. “I’m okay. Daniel too, and Amanda, and Cliff – ”

“ _All_ of you were in there? Christ, were you throwing a hostage party?”

Tyler ignored this. “Betty got hit on the head – Mrs. Hartley too – but they’re okay, I think. But Marc got shot.”

“The SWAT team got you out of there?”

“Yeah, but actually it was Matt who saved us. He called on Betty’s phone.” Tyler’s smile was crooked. “And Daniel risked his neck trying to get me out of there. Turns out I have two brothers who love me.”

Claire touched his face, filled with the same tenderness she’d felt for an infant she’d held only once, too briefly.

The knowledge that Matt had come to Tyler’s rescue might make Cal proud, or might only cause him further chagrin. Claire couldn’t guess which. When she peered past Tyler’s shoulder – willing, now, to acknowledge Cal for the sake of his sons – she realized he had already walked away. From Tyler, from her, from any sense of shame or responsibility.

“Took out like he was on fire or something,” Yoga muttered. “Probably checking on his wife. You want me to find him.”

“No,” Claire replied. “We’re fine as we are.”

**

Getting a transfusion was a total mood-lifter, Marc decided. Even better? Morphine! That gunshot wound felt about a zillion miles away, and he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.

“You look stoned,” the nurse said at one point. “That dosage will do the trick, I guess.”

“Not stoned,” Marc replied airily. “Just in love.”

Maybe it was too early to say that? It wasn’t like he and Cliff were even back together yet, for real. But as far as he was concerned, a near-death crisis counted as at least a date and a half. Particularly when the guy of your dreams actually sheltered you from harm.

“Hey,” said the aforementioned dream guy, from the doorway where he stood. When had Marc been moved into a private room? Maybe he was just a tad stoned. “You look a lot better.”

“In this old thing?” Marc plucked at the hospital gown with his good hand. “Please. Aqua green is so not my color.”

“Well, neither is pasty white, which is the shade you were turning before we got you in here.”

“I suppose an Elizabethan pallor doesn’t suit me. Too bad; it’s so chic. You, on the other hand – you look amazing.”

Cliff ran one hand self-consciously through his disheveled hair. “Please tell me ‘hostage’ is not my ideal look. Because I hope never to wear it again.”

“Less hostage. More hero.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Cliff said, staring at the hospital floor.

“I think we both know that’s not true.” Marc held out his hand, a silent plea for Cliff to touch him. “Listen – the confession’s not deathbed anymore – ”

“Not now, okay? I just – can’t.”

That was disappointing, but Marc figured a room with linoleum flooring, fluorescent lighting and paper sheets wasn’t exactly the most romantic setting in the world. Better to wait for another date. For candlelight and music or at least no gun-toting maniacs, IV lines and flop sweat. “All right.”

In a low tone, Cliff said, “I’m really glad you’re going to be okay.”

“Makes two of us. Jesus. I was kissing my Calvin Klein boxer briefs goodbye for a minute there.” That won him a small smile, and Marc took heart. “Even Wilhelmina would give me time off for this, I figure. But – see you around the magazine. In a week. Two if I can milk her for that much.”

Cliff actually grinned at that. “Two weeks? That might be pushing Wilhelmina a little far.”

“Worth a shot.” Then Marc grimaced. “Ouch, bad pun.”

“Accidental bad puns are the best kind.” After a pause, Cliff said, more gently, “Good night, Marc.”

“Good night,” he answered, inwardly swearing that the next time he said those words to Cliff, it would be while they fell asleep together.

**

Meanwhile, in the ER, Daniel stood between Hilda and Justin as Betty’s doctor explained the results of her scans; it looked as if the blow to her head hadn’t caused any internal bleeding, aside from a nasty bruise she’d have the next day. She would wake up any moment with a severe headache, and would need monitoring for her concussion in the hospital overnight, but she would recover.

“Thank Jesus,” Hilda said, paying one hand over her leopard-spandex-covered cleavage. “Between the two of you and Papi, I have been spending way too much time scared outta my gourd lately.”

“Sorry about that,” Daniel said. “Hopefully we’re all going to stay out of trouble for a while.”

“Now that we know Aunt Betty’s okay, can we check on Marc?” Justin still looked concerned. “My gay mentor lacks family support, and besides, if he’s been scarred, he’s going to take that hard.”

“We ought to run up and see him,” Hilda agreed, “but we’re not leaving your aunt just lying here.”

Daniel said, “I’ll stay with Betty. I promise. If she wakes up, I’ll call you as soon as possible.”

Hilda’s wide grin had rarely looked happier. “You used to be the best boss ever. Now you’re definitely the best ex-boss ever.”

By now Daniel figured he was more than that – but if Betty hadn’t shared their changing relationship with her sister yet, he knew he should save that news for her. “Well, I try.”

She kissed him quickly on the cheek. “I’ll be back right away, all right?”

Justin interjected, “I, on the other hand, will be talking gossip-worthy details with Marc until the painkillers knock him out.”

It felt good to grin again. “Sounds like a plan.”

Then they were gone, and Daniel was alone with Betty once more. He’d needed a moment like this to really believe the good news – that she wasn’t seriously harmed, and that they’d gotten out of that horrible situation in one piece.

Victoria Hartley, on the other hand – he’d overheard a couple of the doctors discussing her transfer to the psych ward.

But Victoria Hartley didn’t matter any longer. He wrapped his hand around Betty’s, grateful to touch her again. Her glasses were folded in the pocket of his T-shirt, where he’d collected them from amid the remnants of the plaster angel; this meant he could look down at her face and imagine that she was simply peacefully asleep. It took considerable willpower not to kiss her again – but the next time their lips touched, Daniel wanted Betty to relish the moment as much as he would.

As if she could hear his thoughts, Betty frowned slightly, then moved her head to one side. And the other. Her eyelids fluttered, and Daniel caressed her hand as Betty whispered, “Where – where am I?”

“The hospital. You’re all right. You just got hit in the head.”

“Daniel?” Betty blinked up at him, frowning in apparent consternation. “What happened?”

“The plaster angel fell on you in the photo studio. Remember?” The doctor had said she might be slightly confused upon awakening, or might even have forgotten the entire hostage incident; it wasn’t an unusual reaction to trauma, apparently.

“And you brought me here?” She sounded more bewildered than he would have thought. “I don’t remember – oh, ow, that hurts.”

Daniel patted her hand. “It’s okay. Take it easy. Hilda and Justin are just down the hall. See, we’re all taking care of you.”

“Hilda – you mean, my sister? My nephew?”

Something about the way Betty stared at him suggested that she knew precisely who those people were (which was a relief, because otherwise Daniel would have started yelling for the doctors right away), but that she didn’t understand how he knew who they were.

Slowly, Daniel said, “Betty, what’s the last thing you remember?”

“Shining your shoes.”

“Huh?” He ever hadn’t asked Betty to do anything that menial. Or – wait – he had. Once. Only once. Realization dawning, Daniel said, “Uh, Betty, you got hit on the head, so I need to ask – what’s the date?”

“October 3, 2006,” she said instantly, naming a date almost four years in the past – and only a week after they’d started working together. “Why?”

Daniel swallowed hard and tried to smile. “No reason.”

 

THE END

 _  
Next time on “Ugly Betty Season Five: New York, New York” – “You Must Remember This.”_

 _(Songs: “The Chaconne,” Dessa; “Amazed and Afraid,” Bill Quateman; “Magic,” Ladyhawke)_

 __


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